


Raise your glass (to your last stand)

by planetofthehats



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetofthehats/pseuds/planetofthehats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean just wants to be able to sleep without dreaming of Hell. But the amount he has to drink to get there keeps going up. Castiel steps in to help. (pre-slash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise your glass (to your last stand)

Dean was drunk again. That was becoming less and less unusual for the hunter lately. He’d always been able to cut loose and have a good time, but now he drank with the speed and determination of someone intent on killing every thought in their skull. Everyone near him had noticed. Well. Both of the people near to him. Bobby did little more than raise a grizzled eyebrow, and Dean could feel Sam’s disapproval burning into the back of his skull when he reached for the bottle of Jack moments after waking up.

Whatever. There were only two things that could distract him from the gaping hole deep in his gut. Drinking and hunting. Women had stopped helping long before he started spiralling deeper into the bottle. He chased after them more out of habit than anything else, and if they proved too difficult to persuade he was an astronaut or talent scout, he gave up the hunt. He went out every night he could, finding the nearest dive bar and setting up on an empty table, hitting on the girls who came too close and downing shots quickly, mechanically. 

He’d decided that night to just fuck everything. They weren’t on a job, and he hadn’t been able to find one after hours of research. He had the local papers of a dozen nearby counties spread out on his table, and the obituaries of the vanilla small town people were disgustingly normal. No puzzle to distract him, no woman willing to listen to his half-assed pick up lines, there was only one refuge left.

He grimaced after every shot, lining up the next one and barely taking a breath between them. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if that could somehow stop the images of burning knives and tightening chains forcing their way out of his skull. His time in Hell was a constant presence in his mind, a thousand things every day triggering flash backs that made his heart pound in his chest. Honestly he was a little impressed with himself for hiding it as effectively from Sam as he had. Sure his brother knew now, but it took him so long Dean was convinced he deserved a damn Oscar.

Of course he’d never been able to fool Castiel. Whenever the serious angel was nearby and someone mentioned Hell, Dean looked up to see those intense blue eyes focused on him harder than he thought it was possible. They never wavered in their gaze, tearing down his masks through sheer force of will. He swore sometimes when Cas stared long enough, he could feel the hand print on his shoulder starting to sting. He hadn’t gotten up the guts to ask Cas if they were…cosmically linked or whatever. God, even thinking it made him feel like he was in some fucking chick flick. That sort of stuff just doesn’t happen. Souls don’t connect. Bodies do, sure. And that’s where all the real fun is.

After a long row of shots and all the money in his pockets, he’s drunk enough to simply be a bundle of numbed senses. He has no idea how long it took, but too soon he’s getting forced out of the bar for closing time. What kind of lame dive bar closes at 3am? It’s not even dawn yet for fuck’s sake.

He gets a bottle from the bartender for the road. Well, swipes it and runs. His skin is numb and thick, his lips tingling with drink. But he knows from hard won experience it’s not enough yet. Another half bottle and he’ll be able to sleep the sleep of the sweetly dead, and maybe next morning he won’t wake up in a cold sweat with terror pounding through his body.

He ends up in an alley somewhere. Sam said he needed the Impala to go pick up some books from Bobby or some crap. Dean had ranted at him for suggesting it, still fuming as he went in and out of the shower. When he got out Sam had simply taken the car. Which was part of why Dean had decided to go get as drunk as he liked. For once his stupid nanny/brother combo wouldn’t say anything and he could get a good night’s sleep.

To be honest Dean has no idea where their motel is anymore. Or even the name of it to ask directions. He’d call Sam for help, but he could imagine the exasperated, judgemental sigh he’d hear over the line before he even dialled the number. He couldn’t handle his little brother’s disappointment in him. Not tonight. He was feeling so good. Well, feeling so little. He just wanted to keep that going.

A figure moved in what he thought had been a pile of garbage, some hard-luck bum asking for change.

Later Dean realises he doesn’t have a clear picture of what happens next. He remembers reaching into his pocket for money that isn’t there, and backing away from the bum with a wary look. He remembers the other man lunging at him, remembers staggering back, grabbing the knife from his coat pocket with thick fingers, keeping hold of it through long years of muscle memory. He remembers swinging out at the man with his knife, slurring something about not wanting to hurt him.

Then there’s a hard, impossibly strong hand stopping the swing in its tracks, resolutely still against Dean’s unfocused strength. The recoil of his aborted swing makes him stumble, and he drops the bottle from his other hand, looking down at it confused before looking up into intense blue eyes under a furrowed brow.

“Cas? Wh…”

——-

Dean stumbled again when Castiel’s fingers left his temple, looking around the crappy motel room in numb confusion.

“…at are…”

He looked up at Castiel, only able to hold his gaze for a brief moment before he sees his own shame reflected back at him. Had Castiel been watching him all night long? Watching him get more and more wasted? He’d never said anything to Dean before about his drinking, but then again Dean had just assumed he hadn’t known. Somehow the fact that Castiel had been watching him drink and just waiting for him to make a mistake like this was more of a judgement than Sam’s small talks. Cas hadn’t tried to talk him out of what he was doing, simply waited for the inevitable moment when Dean would fuck up and ruin everything.

The sudden transition from the alley to the motel room suddenly caught up with Dean, and whatever mental train of thought he’d had before vanished as a twist of nausea punched him in the gut. He managed to get to the bathroom just in time, heaving up everything he’d drunk that night, everything he’d ever drunk as far as he could ever tell. He rinsed his mouth, spitting out the bile and wiping tears from his eyes forced out by the force of his retching.

When he came back out into the room Castiel was still there. In the exact same place he’d been before, head tilted slightly to one side, his eyes boring into Dean again.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what?”

“It’s not nice to just stand there watching people puke their guts out you know.”

“Do you require assistance?”

“Not anymore, not now that I’ve finished puking.”

“Travelling like this has not affected you that way before.”

“Yeah well I wasn’t as drunk as this before.”

“It’s true. I didn’t think your inebriation would have such an effect on your stomach. Then again I didn’t think it would cause you to attack an unarmed man with your switchblade.”

Dean managed to look ashamed at that, moving over to his bed and leaning over to work at the laces of his shoes. He pushed them off carefully, then stayed hanging between his legs for a moment, hoping when he looked up Cas would be gone. He had a habit of running off mid-conversation.

Just Dean’s luck. Not mid this conversation.

When he sat up Cas was sitting on the bed next to him. He startled and half cursed at the angel, his head spinning from the drink still coursing through him and how quickly Cas could move across a room, perch on the edge of a bed without Dean realising he was there. Cas tilted his head again, leaning forward slightly, his intense stare pinning Dean still.

“Tell me. Does it help?”

“Help what?” Dean tossed his shoes away, reaching down to work at his socks just for something to do.

“How empty you feel. Does the alcohol somehow…fill it up?”

“You know what Cas, that’s not your business, alright?”

“This isn’t why you were brought back, Dean. To destroy yourself this way.”

“I’m not destroying myself, alright? If anything I’m fixing myself the only way I know how.”

“The way your father taught you.”

Dean sat bolt upright, glaring as angrily at Cas as he could manage. As unsteady as he felt from drinking, the sudden flash of anger was burning it away. His hands clenched into fists and he barely controlled himself from taking a swing at the ridiculously powerful divine being perched so primly on his bed.

“You leave him out of this, you dick.”

“You should leave him out of it too, Dean. Don’t repeat his mistakes.”

Dean did take a swing at Cas then, as hard as he could, but by the time his fist reached where Cas should have been, the angel had vanished, leaving him to unbalance himself and punch the mattress where he’d been sitting.

“I apologise.”

Dean spun to face where Cas was now standing against the wall, still glaring at him.

“I did not come here to make you angry. I saw you were going to do something you would regret and took action. I should not have done that, even. You are lucky it was me watching you and not someone else.”

“Wait so someone else would have just watched me kill that guy?”

“I don’t know, Dean. Angels don’t all act alike.”

“Well you could have fooled me. You all take the same orders, right?”

“Dean you have to stop this.”

Dean stood up from the bed, advancing on Cas, still angry, knowing by now it was probably wrong to feel that way. He preferred anger to remorse, to apologies, to fear. He wanted to ride it as long as he could.

“I don’t have to do anything Cas. I’m not on some cosmic leash, you know. You can’t just jerk me around all the time. You need my help but don’t ask for it. You’re supposed to follow my orders but you don’t tell me that. You pull me out of the pit for a reason but I don’t get to know what it is. I’m sick and tired of you people messing with me.”

“Dean.”

He was inches from Cas now, the wave of his anger pushing him further into the angel’s personal space. Well fine. Dean thought he’d give Cas a taste of his own medicine. Let him see how uncomfortable it felt to be this close to someone he wasn’t ready for. Cas didn’t seem to mind it, which only made Dean angrier. The first time Cas had stepped right up close to him it had unsettled Dean so much he hadn’t been able to look him in the eye. Of course the fact that he was practically being threatened at the time had made it difficult. But there was also something else. Something that made the scant amount of air between them thicken in a way that was startlingly familiar.

He felt it again now, even through the haze of alcohol still wrapping his skin and senses. His lips were still tingling with drink, but he was even more aware of them now, noticing for the first time how chapped Cas’s own lips looked. He wondered vaguely if they’d always looked that way and he’d just never seen it.

“Dean, are you alright?”

Castiel’s voice suddenly hit Dean properly as well. The deep roughness of it, so loud in the close space he thought he couldn’t hear anything else.

“No I’m not alright, Cas.”

His confession was meant to be an angry one, harsh and the start of another tirade about angelic interference, or the lack of it. But somewhere halfway through he started cracking, a sharp pain striking deep in his chest, the vast empty hole there reaching out to fill his throat with aching nothingness again.

“I just…I just need to sleep.”

It was the boldest lie he’d ever dared to tell, because he was telling it to Castiel who watched him more closely than anyone else ever had. Castiel who apparently was around with him when he thought he was alone, saw the unguarded moments he hid from even Sammy. He risked a glance up at Cas’s face and instantly regretted it, the force of the dark blue eyes staring unblinkingly at him making the cracks just spread wider through his body.

“I can help with that if you would like.”

“It’s not against your rules or whatever?”

Cas’s mouth quirked in a small, dry smile. “No Dean. Believe it or not, no one has thought to give me specific orders regarding the regulation of your sleeping habits.”

“Cas was that a joke?” Dean tried to grin through the aching pain trying to force its way out of him, his own attempt at a smile coming out as a deeply pained expression.

“Did you find it amusing?”

“Yeah it was alright.”

“Then yes, Dean. It was a joke.” There was that dry smile again. Cas’s sense of humour might be rare and hard to see, but at least Dean knew it was there now. If he remembered this the next day. He was still pretty drunk.

“You should prepare yourself for sleep.”

“Whoa Cas, what…?”

“I told you, I can help you get some rest if you like. But I assume you would like to sleep in your bed.”

“Yeah ok. But…do you mind?”

“What am I minding this time?”

“Can you turn around, please? I need to get out of my pants.”

Cas looked embarassed and a little uncomfortable at that, turning to face the wall and waiting perfectly still. Dean stripped quickly, finding a mostly clean shirt and diving under the bed covers as fast as he could. He pulled the covers right up to his armpits, wondering how drunk he had to be to be accepting a divine sleeping pill.

“Alright I’m good. Work your mojo.”

Castiel turned around and stepped closer to the bed, reaching out with two fingers towards Dean’s temple.

“Wait, Cas?”

“Yes Dean.”

“Sam’s not coming back tonight, and I…” he had no idea how to say he wasn’t used to sleeping in a room alone. It almost never happened. He knew he should be ok with it, but he’d gotten so used to the constant presence of his brother that it was hard for him to think about sleeping without it. He didn’t want to wake up alone, or go to sleep knowing that either. But every way he tried to frame the thought came out ridiculously sappy.

“Who’s on Dean Duty tonight?” he finished lamely, relaxing when Cas flashed him that small smile again.

“Well there isn’t always someone watching you, you know. But my orders are to stay nearby until you recover your sobriety tomorrow.”

“Ok thanks. Good to know.”

Cas brought his fingers to Dean’s temple, sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep so quickly Dean didn’t even have a chance to register the feeling of calm sliding over him.


End file.
